Empty
by Bitter Baristas
Summary: Summer had departed Gravity Falls and school had returned, junior high in the past and high school the daunting present. Tights under jeans and long sleeves under sweaters concealed her thinning body, shielding sharp elbows and high peaked, sloping pelvic bones. Warnings: anorexia/bulimia, depression, referenced rape, OOC.


Hazel eyes bore into the mirror. Green and bronzed gold swirled around inky pupils, tears dripping down flushed cheeks. Waves of chestnut hair fell around a youthful face as the girl stumbled on her wobbly legs, thin arms pushing against the bathroom counter for stability. She coughed and collapsed on the sink, her breathing weak. She stayed that way for a long moment, cheek pressed to cool porcelain. She finally opened her eyes, the house eerily still around her. She rose, hand close to the wall for fear she'd lose balance again. After a few more deep breathes she returned to her task.

She carefully lowered herself to her knees before the toilet. Her right hand lingered by her slippery mouth, eager fingers plunging into her throat. The scraped digits wriggled against the back of her throat until bile rose around them. She opened wide and let the vomit fall into the bowl, splashing loudly. Her mind wandered to the others who resided in the house. Her brother, running around with his journal or possibly assisting their great uncle in some kind of scientific endeavor. Stan, cleaning the remnants of breakfast-Stancakes. Thick, fluffy slabs soaked with sickening maple flavored corn syrup. She could feel the fat bubbling beneath her skin from the meal, the calories sloshing in her stomach and threatening to bleed into her if she didn't get rid of it soon.

And here she was, vomiting until there was nothing solid left to purge. One last time she felt the rush of liquid around her fingers and she coughed out a mouthful of slimy stomach fluids. She stayed motionless, breathing deeply to ease the dizziness whirling inside her skull. Finally she was able to stand and flush, knees buckling but not entirely failing. She washed her tainted hands, streaks of red and beige slipping down the drain with a whisper.

She returned red-rimmed eyes to the mirror and wiped away the tears. Cool water washed away the stinging salt left behind and she stood mesmerized by her reflection. She smiled.

Too much teeth. She smiled again and again, each upwards twitch of the cheek painful.

Smile plastered on her face she heavily sprayed the room with air freshener. Satisfied she left the bathroom, freezing when she ran into an old man in boxers waiting outside the door.

"Took you long enough kid." he grumbled.

"Sorry Grunkle Stan!" Mabel chippered, voice pitching high. "Girl's gotta take her beauty time."

The old man laughed gruffly and pushed past her.

Mabel exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

If anyone found out about her secret they'd demand she stop, or worse, body slam her into a clinic.

Mabel had heard horror stories from the school bathroom stalls, strange girls sharing experiences between purges.

"If you don't eat, they strap you down and hook up the tubes, weigh you down in heavy cream and death."

"-Had to do situps and pushups at night between nurse checks."

"Yeah, couldn't even go to the bathroom alone."

"Mabel? You got any stories?"

She had not.

The girls had not shunned her for lack of hospitalization. After their hands were washed and teeth brushed, one of them, a senior, had smiled at her with a gentle sorrow.

"Don't worry; you'll get there." Mabel had stared, wide-eyed. Had it been praise; a warning?

The girl was gone before she had time to react, lost in a crowd of students hurrying to their next class. Mabel joined the fray, hurrying not to her next class, but to a new goal. Hurrying to a hospital room, to a small casket and a bed made in the cold ground.

The thought was chilling, yet comforting. For once she was in complete control over herself. How much food she ate, how much she exercised, and how many times she slipped into the bathroom. She controlled it. Every ounce and pound could be calculated away with the calories she counted on her fingers. Where life had been so uncertain and terrifying it was now predictable.

Mabel sighed audibly and wandered through the house. Stan would be scamming the odd batch of non-summer tourists soon, and Dipper and Ford were nowhere to be found. The girl paused in front of the vending machine door that led to Ford's laboratory. Were he and Dipper down there? She took a step forward, hand outstretched. Her fingers brushed the keys, retracting swiftly. She shook her head as she stepped back, sinking to her knees. Hands covered her ears as memories flooded her mind.

Stan pleading to her and Dipper shouting angrily, both Pines men pinned to the wall as gravity vanished around her, the dread she felt not enough to weigh her down. Her hair rose in tendrils above her head as she let the tension fade from her body. Her hand no longer hovered over the button and Dipper's biting words were replaced by roaring static. Lights on the portal blinked and the robotic countdown reached zero. A film of tangible light shimmered as the portals doorway materialized. The room was penetrated by a incomprehensibly bright light. For a single moment it was as if the particles of her being were blown apart, and then reassembled in an instant.

She landed painfully and the Pines family watched in awe as Grunkle Ford came through the gateway. Dipper, despite being ecstatic to meet the author, remained bitter towards her. She had betrayed him by choosing Stan.

Though time had mended Dipper's hurt feelings, Mabel continued to feel his harsh rejection. A cold shoulder where he was once so attuned to his twin.

That night she had refused dinner, and the next morning she felt to sick for breakfast.

Mabel blinked.

She was in the gift shop, alone. She was not in the basement, and Dipper did not hate her.

Or did he?

The girl shook her head, resigning herself to solitude. It was best, she convinced herself. She could devote her entirety to knitting a thick sweater that would fight the constant cold she felt.

Summer had departed Gravity Falls and school had returned, junior high in the past and high school the daunting present. The months were flying from the calendar and Oregan's harsh winter had frosted the town. Mabel found solace in the cold, hiding beneath her layers of clothes. Tights under jeans and long sleeves under sweaters concealed her thinning body, shielding sharp elbows and high peaked, sloping pelvic bones. Mabel self consciously slipped a hand under her sweater and ran her fingers along her ribs, imagining the pings of a xylophone with each stroke of her fingertips.

Settling in the living room the girl sat cross legged with a mess of yarn in her lap. She turned on the television and began to knit.

Soon the colors on the screen swirled together with the clack of her knitting needles and her eyes glazed over, fingers numb. Metal rods clashed and yarn tangled hopelessly. Tears dripped into the blurry strings, her sadness woven into the heap of a sweater. A tapestry of memories.

 _Her newest crush._ The fabric was darkened by her tears.

 _A boy who looked at her with sly eyes._ Her fingers twitched.

 _She was chattering happily when he advanced._ Aching bones.

 _He lured her into seclusion with his charm._ Her friends twittered excitedly when their friend walked off with the handsome senior.

 _Slamming into rough bricks, his hand on her hips, his face too close._ A passionate soul, a ravenous fire.

 _His mouth devouring her, hands touching her, hurting. Fingers curling through her hair and into her skull._ Embers glowing in ashes, smoke wafting skywards.

 _"_ _I like big girls." he whispered by her ear, snagging the lobe between his teeth._ Mabel shook, gasping.

 _Then the weight was gone._

The girl openly wept, bringing the ruined yarn to her face.

She felt herself shattering all over again.

Mabel growled and tore at the poorly knitted sweater, stretching it until the holes gaped and the yarn dug into her fingers. Bringing it to her face she bit down on what was a sweater and cried until her cheeks were raw.

When she was spent the girl leaned against Stan's recliner, chest heaving. Her head pulsed dully. Mabel clamored onto the chair, arms folded to cushion her head on the armrest. She blinked, eyelids heavy. Wispy lashes landed on her rosy cheeks and stayed there. The haze in her brain thickened as she dozed off.

Stan wandered past the living room, loosening his tie. He spotted a mass on his chair. He opened his mouth to admonish Mabel's pig, voice dying when he saw it was the girl herself. A soft smile made its way to his face. He approtched the slumbering child, fingers gently stroking her hair. A few brittle strands came out under his fingers manipulation. He brought them to his face, frown deepening his age lines. Mabel shifted, whimpering softly as she pressed to the back of the chair. Stan crouched, his hand going to her shoulder. He studied her face, noticing suddenly how narrow it was, how deep-set purple bags were under her eyes. How had they gotten his radar until now? The girl turned over in her sleep, arm flopping off the chair. Her sleeve slid up to her elbow, giving Stan a chance to see the skeletal limb. Brown eyes widened behind smudged lenses and his grip on her tightened unconsciously. Mabel cried out, blindly flailing.

"No, stop!" her words were strangled from sleep, barely formed in her panic. Stan fell onto his rear and Mabel pushed against the chairs back. They stared at one another, mirroring shocked expressions.

Mabel laughed uneasily. "Hi Grunkle Stan. Must have had a nightmare."

The old man rose and chuckled awkwardly, "yeah. Uh, you okay, kid?"

Her face was flushed, eyes red and puffy. She stared at her lap and fidgeted. She hated to lie. "Yeah, Grunkle Stan, I'm great. There was just a really sad episode of Duck'tective." She jumped from his chair and hurried out of the room, head down. Stanley watched her go, saw the way her legs wobbled minutely under her, how her hand rose parallel to the wall without touching it.

Worry churned in his stomach. He glanced towards the stairs, making sure Mabel was preoccupied before he made his way to the lab.

Further in the laboratory 's depths Ford and Dipper were pouring over a table, silent and focused on their work. His interruption was not taken kindly.

"Stanley," Ford said without looking up, eyebrow twitching."We're rather busy."

He glared as a hand clapped onto his shoulder, nasty words evaporating when he saw Stan's grim face.

Despire years of resentment and separation the twins still shared an unspoken bond, and Stanford excused himself to talk privately with his brother.

"Now, Stanley, what is so urgent?"

Stan shot him a warning glance and whispered, "have you… noticed anything wrong with Mabel?"

Ford's eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean? Is something's wrong with-" He cut himself off with a yelp of pain as Stan gripped his arm. Glaring, Ford returned with whispers. "What do you mean? Is something wrong with her?"

"She's... so thin. I know teenagers are worried about their weight, but..." Guilt flashed in Stan's eyes. "I can't believe I didn't notice sooner. She's been eating, hasn't she?" He looked pleading at Ford, hands clutching at his shoulders. "You've seen her eating, haven't you?"

Ford thought back to their frequent family meals. They usually all had breakfast at the same time, and dinner was rarely missed. He and Dipper usually worked through lunch hours, so it was possible Mabel had been skipping her mid-day meal. Referring to his impeccable memory and attention to detail, he did recall thinking that Mabel's portions had been dwindling. But not so much as to cause the weight loss Stan described.

Ford pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Yes, she's been eating. Come now, Stanley, she could just be ill. Perhaps a parasite."

Stan rolled his eyes. "I'm going to figure out what's going on."

"Stanley, tact has never been your forte. Are you certain that's the best idea?"

Stan knew his brother often lacked social tact and likely didn't intend his comment to be rude, but Ford's voice was tinged with infuriating smugness.

Growling low in his throat he pushed closer, forcing Ford against the wall. The scientist glared, but held his hands up in defeat.

Stan huffed and stomped upstairs to the attic, knocking on the door. Since when did Mabel close the door?

"Mabel?"

"Come in!" her call was cheerful, and Stan found her bright-eyed on her bed. One of her teen magazines was crumpled and open beside her.

"Hey kiddo," He sat on the bed, mattress dipping with his weight. He cleared his throat, breathing in loudly. His hand went to press against her forehead, Mabel's wince subtle but noticeable. No fever. "Mabel," he began unsurely. "You've been looking pale lately." Stan felt another stab of guilt. He had not noticed anything amiss until today, when it punched him in the face.

Matchstick thin arms circled around his waist and Stan automatically returned the embrace.

They stayed silent, Stan content to keep her safe in his arms. Minutes trickled by and Stan coughed. "Want to go get some ice cream?"

Mabel nodded after a moment's deliberation, reluctant to end their hug. After she did let go she hopped onto her feet, smiling wide. "I want chocolate!"

Stan would normally take pleasure from her exuberance, but nausea nagged him into remembering that something was wrong with his darling niece.

Mabel grinned from the backseat, bundled in a pink coat, matching mittens, and a scarf Stan had fastened for her.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his gaze trained on Mabel's reflection in the rearview mirror.

Stanley was a straight up kind of conman. He protected his family at any expense, he told the truth when he could, and he was not afraid to speak his mind. But as he looked in mirror at his niece, his sweet, innocent Mabel, he could not summon the courage to ask what he suspected.

He went over the past few months in his mind, trying to recall any unusual behavior. He was not always observant, but he kept more tabs on the kids than he let on. They were the light of his life and the notion that Mabel had been secretly ill unnerved him.

"Grunkle Stan? Grunkle Stan?"

"What was that, sweetie?"

"Are we going to go inside?"

Stan's eyebrows pushed together in confusion and he looked around.

His car was parked and idling in a handicapped space. The man groaned. He did need a seeing eye bear.

"Yeah."

Mabel skipped ahead of him, pausing to let him catch up at the entrance. Stan allowed a smile to cross his face and ruffled her hair.

As they shopped he kept a watchful eye on Mabel, but if something was wrong she was doing a great deal to conceal it. She moved with her typical energy, eagerly picking rocky road ice cream and helping him with the rest of the shopping.

They made it to the checkout without incident, his worry somewhat quelled.

"Sir? It's 37.29."

Stan nudged Mabel as he reached into his pocket.

"Of course, let me just grab my wallet-run!"

He smashed a smoke bomb into worn linoleum tile and raced to the car.

In his sprint he glanced back to see Mabel struggling to keep up from across the parking lot, limping as if her body couldn't support her.

He muttered a curse and threw the stolen products into the back seat and jammed the key into the ignition. Leaving his door open he ran to Mabel and easily picked her up. She was alarmingly light.

He shoved her into the backseat.

"Buckle up!"

Their car speed off.

After a few dangerously sharp turns, ran yellow lights and near misses of jaywalkers, they were a safe distance from the store. Stan could have thought about how truly stupid the townsfolk were, letting him get away with the same shenanigans for thirty years, but Mabel dominated his mind.

He glanced at both sides of the street and switched lanes without signaling. He pulled into a fast-food drive through and ordered two burgers. He paid with real money and tossed the greasy paper bag onto the passenger's seat.

"Grunkle Stan?"

"We're having ourselves a treat, just you and me."

Stan parked the car outside the Mystery Shack. He looked back at Mabel and opened his door. She copied him and they sat on the hood of the car. Stan watched her as he unwrapped his hamburger, noting how she methodically took one bite for every two of his.

"Kid, you know you can come to me if something's wrong, right?"

Mable stiffened and took a large bite, smiling around the food as she nodded vigorously.

"Of course, Grunkle Stan."

"Or your uncle Ford, or Dipper. We're all here if you need anything."

She nodded, slow and silent. Her chin wobbled, lower lip sticking out in the tell tale sign of coming tears.

Mabel set her burger aside and scooted closer to Stan, a small sob escaping her. He held her tightly, stroking her hair as she cried into his chest.

She felt small in his arms, so unlike her large and loud personality.

He remembered holding her as a baby, pink and wrinkled body swathed by a blanket. Her brother had cried when Stan held him, but she was untroubled in his arms. His nephew, a carbon copy of Shermie Pines, gently set Mason in the free crook of Stan's arms. The boy quieted instantly.

Stanley knew that day he'd do anything for these children.

Two short years later, tragedy struck. Stan kept true to the promise he'd made at the hospital. After months of child services inspection and paperwork the state of California deemed him suitable to be the twins' legal guardian.

He loved them like his own. The kids being in his life was the best thing to ever happen to him. They were a family, and there was nothing he wouldn't do to protect them.

But he'd failed.

Stanley had cried many times, none of them with an audience. Which was why he understood Mabel's confusion.

Her whole life he'd kept a brave face, and now she was witness to a crumbling mask.

It made her feel awful.

"I'm sorry Grunkle Stan." She cried harder.

"You got nothing to be sorry for, pumpkin."

He desperately wanted to ask what had caused this, but settled for, "I love you, kiddo."

"I love you too, Grunkle Stan."

Mabel wiped at her eyes, sniffling. Her mouth opened and shut, more words lodging in her throat. Stan deserved to know what had driven them here, but how could she tell him?

"Was it Bill?" his soft voice cut through her thoughts.

"Part of it."

Stan nodded. "Sweetie," he hesitated. "Are you… eating?"

"I get nightmares, sometimes." she said suddenly, going lax on his lap. "Where everything goes wrong and we don't get you back. Or when Dipper dies, or Grunkle Ford. Ones where Bill comes back and he makes me-" Mabel's throat became too thick for more words to pass.

Anger, hot and lethal, surged through his veins.

"Grunkle Stan I was-" Abused, hurt?

The strong arms encircling her squeezed comfortingly and Stan rested his chin on the top of her head.

"What, sweetie?"

"I just haven't been very hungry."

She felt some of Stan's tension release and he pressed a quick kiss into her hair.

So unlike the harsh touch inflicted upon her in a vacant music room. "The ice cream is probably melting."

Stan laughed and stood, not releasing his hold on her. He carried her into the house, depositing her onto the living room couch.

"Find something for us to watch and I'll make my famous melted ice cream shakes."

Mabel sunk into the cushions.

Stan returned with two large glasses topped with whipped cream, crazy straws stuck into the dessert.

"Here you go, ya little gremlin."

Mabel snuggled into Stan's side, feeling content. He laid an arm over her shoulders. "Mabel, sweetie?"

She hummed around the straw between her lips.

"You're, uh, a very pretty young lady. Please don't lose anymore weight."

She'd cried so many times today, so many times in the last few months. These were not like the other tears. These were grateful. Her great uncle loved her, wanted above all else for her to be healthy and happy.

"I'll try, Grunkle Stan."

. . .

Mabel did try. She tried to forget his touch, the nightmares and Bill and the way eating made her feel sick.

For a few days she ate normally, only for her body to betray her. She vomited-involuntarily. The food hit her stomach and began a revolt. She was unused to regular portions and they left her nauseous and bloated.

The girl at school, the one with sad eyes, watched her closely in the bathroom the day before winter break.

"You've come a long way." She stated, motioning for Mabel to follow her.

Mabel stared at the older girls boney legs, fear flickering in her when she grabbed a cane that had been propped on the brick wall.

They walked painfully slow.

"I'm not coming back after Christmas break."

"What? Why?"

"I'm going to Rosewood for inpatient."

"I'm sorry."

The girl took Mabel's hand in her two withered, veiny ones. Mabel's was ruddy in comparison. The girl yanked her sleeve up, doing the same to Mabel's.

"What are-"

"Look."

Mabel did.

The girl's arm was covered with fine, fur like hair. "Lanugo."

"What?"

"Lanugo. My body is growing hair to keep me warm."

Mabel pulled her arm away.

"It's not too late for you."

Mabel opened her mouth to refute the girl's words, but was interrupted. "I might not make it back." She smiled sagely. "You, you have a lot more Christmases to celebrate with you family."

She looped her canes crookneck handle on her wrist and wrapped Mabel in an hug. The younger froze, acutely aware of the girls bones poking her.

"Goodbye, Mabel Pines." She withdrew, her expression serene.

School had been let out a few minutes ago, masses of adolescents clearing out with high hopes of a good holliday. The girl hobbling to a car idling curbside had no such hopes. She cast one last glance to Mabel as she climbed into the backseat. The door slammed shut and she was gone.

Mabel had good friends. Dipper, Wendy, Candy, and Grenda, who all remained her friends despite hanging out infrequently.

In that moment she felt like she'd lost a dear friend. A girl whose name she'd not learned and had talked to twice in the most generous of estimates, but had understood her broken mind, was gone.

She stood there, lost, until Dipper found her.

"Mabel, are you okay?"

No. She was numb and tired of eating and tired not eating. Tired of breathing. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go home."

The buses had departed and the sidewalks were slick. Mabel clung to Dipper's arm as they walked, the fear of breaking something if she fell all too real.

"Dip-dop?"

"Yeah?"

"Let's stop by Greasy's Diner and get some pie."

Dipper grinned. "You're treat?"

Mabel laughed, a real laugh, and bumped her shoulder against his. "My treat."

Lazy Susan brought them each two slices piled high with whipped cream. She also brought them a to-go box with "your uncle's favorite."

"What life would be like if Stan had kept dating her?" Mabel wondered aloud. Dipper shrugged, shoveling half of the pumpkin pie into his mouth in one forkful.

"How do you do that?" The question left her mouth before she could think about it.

"Do what?"

Her lips formed a tight frown, a glare focused on her place. "That. Just… eating without thinking about it."

"Mabel, are you okay?" Dipper's full attention was on her, worry leaking into his voice. "I know you've been worried about school and those girls."

She looked up sharply. "What girls?"

Dipper shifted uncomfortably. "Those… sick ones. Don't get me wrong," He gestured wildly to convey that he meant no offence. "I'm glad you're trying to help them… but I don't think you can help them."

"What do you mean?"

"They don't want to get better, Mabel. They like being sick. You can't help someone who doesn't want to get better."

Mabel forced herself to swallow another bite of pie. "I guess you're right."

They made it home to find Stan pacing the house.

"Kids! What took you so long?"

"We stopped to get some pie." Dipper wagged the styrofoam container and handed it to him. "That's from Susan."

"Thanks. Just… call next time so I know you'll be late."

Stan had always secretly been a mother hen, but recently he'd become more open about his fussing. Especially regarding Mabel.

Dipper Pines considered himself astute, and yet the reason for Stan's behavior baffled him. After Weirdmageddon he acted this way. A few months later it subsided. What had him on high alert?

If something was wrong Mabel or Stan would have told him. Right?

When he thought about it, he had been spending considerably more time with Ford and less with Mabel. Perhaps something had slipped past his observations.

An idea popped into his head and he ran to find Ford.

. . .

Days passed without consequence. Mabel took to the kitchen for appearances and filled the house with the smells of baking. Burred blocks of butter mixed with sugar, and rows of gingerbread men marched from the oven. Bits of dough that clung to her cold hands were washed off in the sink instead of being licked away.

After they were dressed in frosting and candies, the gingerbread men met a gruesome end. Her family warned her if she didn't partake in the feast then there may be none left later. And although that was a chance she was willing to take Mabel still ate one.

Now more than ever she felt the heat of calculating stares. Dipper and Ford observed her with the scrutiny of an experiment. Looking for abnormalities.

The girls from school dreaded Christmas. Chocolates, fruit cakes, nuts, and cookies. It was a season of temptation. For Mabel, who celebrated all the national whatever days, Christmas was a favorite holiday. Decorations transformed the house and magic lingered in the air. It eased her into relaxation. Every meal she made sure to eat with someone. She also conveniently forgot about her scale.

She wanted to get better. She truly did. But for every step forward she seemed to take two back. Days she ate a proper amount were followed by a night of terrifying dreams. Her hope was beginning to fade.

What if she never got better? Could she live the rest of her life this way? That answer, she thought, was yes. But only if it was a short life. She could go on for a while, like the girl she knew wouldn't return because Dipper was right. She wanted to be sick, she'd been sick for so long she didn't know how to be healthy. Was Mabel too far gone down that broken road? Could she really just stop and turn around?

Did she want to stop?

Realistically, she knew nothing worth the walk awaited her at the end of that road. Happiness and sunshine and adventures with Dipper were not the end of that road. She did not want to find out where that road led. She already knew. Alienation, depression, clinic after clinic, and eventually death was the end of this journey.

She knew. So why couldn't she stop? Eating had been effortless before, it could be effortless again. Couldn't it?

That… that she didn't know.

. . .

Mabel was knitting in the living room when Dipper found her.

"Mabel, do you want to-Mabel?"

Engrossed in the repetitive task she didn't hear her name being called.

"Mabel!" The shout came right beside her head and the girl yelped. She fell back onto the floor gracelessly, heart racing with the speed of a spooked bunny.

Dipper's face swam into her vision, eyebrows scrunched. "Mabel?" he sounded concerned now.

Mabel laughed awkwardly. "Sorry bro-bro. Zoned out there."

He didn't seem convinced, but Mabel had gone from a size four to a zero without his noticing. She slapped on a smile and sat up, taking his hand to pull herself up. "Ducktetective reruns." she grinned until Dipper's unease lessened. "So whats up?"

The boy's face sparked with remembrance. "Oh! Grunkle Ford and I are going Yeti hunting, wanna come?"

Ford walked into the room just then, pulling his trench coat collar over his neck.

"Dipper I've told you there are no Yeti's in Oregon. I simply wish observe the gnomes winter habits and I determine the diameter for the barbed wire fence we want to put up."

Dipper blushed. "Well, yeah, do you want to come anyway, Mabel?"

Mabel smiled genuinely and surged to attention. "Heck yeah! And just because we've never seen Yeti's doesn't mean they don't live here, Grunkle Ford." Her smile was stretched wide, cheeks puffing and eyes shining.

The old man chuckled and humored her. "Perhaps, Mabel. Shall we go, then?"

Mabel dashed up the stairs, yelling something unintelligible back.

Shrugging her coat on the girl grabbed her grappling hook off her nightstand and was back in the living room, quick as a tornado.

Smiling, Dipper took her gloved hand in his own and squeezed.

Ford watched the young twins with a soft expression and patted himself down, ensuring that he had all his equipment for the recon.

"Alright. Visibility is good now, kids, but keep close." He said.

Ford in the lead, they trudged into the forest.

Dipper's hand slipped from her grip and the boy scampered ahead to help their Grunkle with something.

Wind licked at Mabel's cheeks and her nose was leaking. They'd been walking for about a half hour and her legs already ached. She'd fallen behind, her ear muffs snuggly on.

Really, it was no surprise to her why she hadn't realized sooner that Dipper and Ford were screaming at her to run.

As the two boys were almost on her it clicked in her mind. Spurred by adrenalin she sprinted. Ford fired what Mabel assumed was a lazer gun back at whatever was chasing them.

"Keep going, kids!"

When they made it to the Shack her head was spinning. Rocks had filled her lungs and air escaped her. Dipper's voice rang in her ears, yelling Ford's name.

The world tilted, the ground rising to hit her. Darkness filled her vision and Mabel knew no more.

. . .

"Grunkle Ford what do we do?" Dipper's voice came out shrill, piercing enough for Stan to hear from upstairs.

"What's going-" He trailed off, eyes widening at the sight of Mabel passed out in his brothers arms. He allowed himself no time for hysteria, by Ford's side quickly. "What happened?"

"We had been running from something and she fainted. Dipper, you were with her. Did anything else happen?"

"N-no. She just fell over." The boy's face had lost its color. "Is she going to be okay?"

"Dipper, I know you're worried about your sister. But I need you to go upstairs. Can you do that?" Dipper would have protested, insisted he stay with Mabel, but the heaviness in Stan's voice had him nodding dumbly. Stan and Ford locked eyes, wordlessly agreeing. They gently laid Mabel on the floor and tugged her sweater halfway up. Ribs stuck out against her skin aggressively, her stomach dipping into a hollow. It was Ford who pulled her shirt down, but the image was burned into their memory.

"I-I thought she was getting better." Stan's voice trembled pitifully.

"I'm so sorry, Stanley. You were right." Ford stood with Mabel in his arms, his steely expression cracking.

"God I wish I wasn't."

. . .

Consciousness returned slowly. Darkness faded into grey and Mabel groaned. A bright light overhead made her head pound.

"Grunkle Stan?"

She heard a sniffle, followed by a tearful laugh.

"You scared us, pumpkin."

"Wha' happened?"

"You fainted." Ford supplied grimly.

"Oh."

"Mabel, honey," Stan sounded more tender than she'd ever heard him. "Mabel this needs to stop."

She nodded. It wasn't enough, but what more could she do?

"I'm sorry, Grunkle Stan."

The old man scooped her up, hugging her like he did when she was a child. "Why, Mabel. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

She wanted to get better. She didn't want to be sick anymore. She was done pretending.

Mabel told them, the bad and the ugly.

She had never seen Ford cry before that day and Stan had never held her so tightly.

The emptiness inside her seemed to dislodge the more she told them, and by the end it had filled. Sadness and anger and pain took the voids place, but Mabel welcomed the emotions. She was done being numb.

 **Notes:** I started writing this three years ago, forgot about it, and finished it in a week. I'm honestly not 100% on it, but here it is. Hope you all enjoy :) 


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